


"I Know What You Could Become"

by Gleeleaf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Bisexual John, Daddy John, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gay Sherlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Mostly-straight John, Repressed John, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:04:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9680915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gleeleaf/pseuds/Gleeleaf
Summary: Set over a year after the ending of Series 4, Episode 3, "The Final Problem," when John and Rosie have moved into Baker St. with Sherlock.  Sherlock comes out regarding his feelings for John. (The title is Mary's quote from her video message at the end of The Final Problem.)





	

John descends the stairs from the upstairs bedroom tiredly. He's just put little Rosie down for her nap. She's only turned 3, and she always fights her nap time.

He enters the downstairs flat to find Sherlock sitting pensively in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin, and fully dressed, much to John's surprise. His violin is sitting propped close beside his knee, as if he had been considering playing it. John wishes he _had_ played … Hearing Sherlock's violin always helps Rosie off to sleep.

John makes a move toward the kitchen, fancying a cuppa, but stops in the doorway of the flat when Sherlock speaks.

“You know, John. Rosamund is getting far too old to be sharing a bedroom with her daddy.”

John shrugs slightly with a questioning look as if to say, _And your point is?_

“You might consider…” Sherlock pauses, looks up to meet John's eyes, “moving in. With me.”

John lets out a startled bark of laughter. “What – into your room?” Sherlock holds his gaze, so he huffs out another laugh, saying, “You cannot be serious. You're having me on, right? You're joking?”

Sherlock looks slightly offended, uncrossing his legs and standing primly, adjusting his suit jacket as he says, “I'm perfectly serious, John; there's enough space for us both.” He sounds affronted, and John can't help letting out another scoff. Sherlock shoots him a glare. “I am _not_ joking.”

John gives Sherlock and incredulous look, mouth parted, shaking his head slightly while his eyebrows furrow together, as if he's trying to work out a bewildering and frustrating math problem on a chalk board.

Sherlock approaches him slowly, deliberately. “Look ... John,” he begins in a serious tone, “I know that you are not _gay_ …”

“No, no, I'm not. _Thank_ you – for reminding me!” John begins, in his rapidly-escalating-tirade-voice that Sherlock has grown familiar with by now. “Because, of all the people we bloody know,” John continues, “Of course _I'm_ the bloody one who definitely needs to be reminded. Not everyone _else_ , apparently!”

Sherlock swallows visibly and steps in somewhat closer, stopping just a few feet from John. “But I _am_.”

There's a slightly stunned silence as John's shock cuts off his tirade, lips pursing together tightly. Sherlock stares at his feet, looking somehow stoic and uncomfortable all at once. John, stares at Sherlock, mouth and brow working furiously while trying to puzzle out exactly what he'd just heard.

Sherlock finally breaks their standoff, speaking clearly and deliberately, his eyebrows arching up in the way they do when he's trying to be concise and sincere. “I know we've never talked about it, but I … _am_ … gay.”

John makes a slight “huh” noise of acknowledgment, but says no more. He suddenly finds the window out of their flat very interesting and stares out of it, shuffling his feet just a little as they fall into another uncomfortable silence.

Sherlock stays quiet also, and the moment grows longer and tenser as they wait. They can hear Mrs. Hudson puttering in her kitchen, clanking dishes quietly in the apartment below.

“John,” says Sherlock at last, hesitantly and cautiously now, and then he pauses again. He had thought this out quite carefully. He _had_ planned what to say. But … with the conversation actually happening, the words seemed to have vanished. Strange. That never happens to Sherlock Holmes. He frowns to himself in deep annoyance. _Feelings_ , he thinks, spitting the word in his mind like a curse.

“Look,” he tries again, “I know that you … I know you've had some expe-” (he cuts himself off with a small grunt of annoyance, pursing his lips together, _No, that's not right, don't say it like that_ ) “-I know,” (deep frustrated sigh) “that you're not … normally … interested in … but that you _have_ -”

He cuts himself off again, giving up on the hope that he can say this in any way that won't chase John away. He can see it in John's eyes now, even if his friend won't look at him. Sherlock can't come right out and say it or John will run. He watches John's jaw as it is now twitching violently on itself, watches John's stiffened posture and rapidly clenching and un-clenching fits. He observes it all closely and waits to see what the soldier will do … He knows his friend's fight or flight stance, and this is definitely it.

After a while, when John still hasn't stormed out of the room, Sherlock concludes that he must have decided on fight. Well, hopefully not an actual _fight_ , but it seems that he's decided to stay and face the conversation. Sherlock recalculates the situation, and decides to change tactics.

“You know … what Mary said. In her last message to us." He pauses to gaze at his best (and only) friend, earnestly. He sees pain and turmoil, but it's nothing less than what he feels himself, and he is supposedly the heartless one. So he continues, "Mary said … that she knew what we could become … If she was gone.” John flinches visibly, but he still doesn't run. Sherlock flinches too, like someone traversing thin ice who perceives a small spiderweb of cracks spreading from under his foot. And then he proceeds with caution, watching his friend closely. “John, I … I think she knew, as I well as I do … and I think that you do too, that we _could_ … become-”

At a short glare shot in his direction, Sherlock closes his mouth and falls silent. John's eyes flick immediately back to the window.

So Sherlock rallies himself and tries to switch tactics again, leaning just slightly in earnest towards the army doctor. “Can you honestly tell me that if … If I hadn't … _jumped_ -” (another strong flinch from John) “-and been dead … for two years, and I had been here, with you-”

Suddenly John feels a deep rush of anger surging to the surface, rushing into him like floodgates opening … That anger and betrayal and hurt that he always keeps in check, because he's _forgiven_ Sherlock, he _has_ , but he still _feels_ it, he _always_ feels it, and for Sherlock to bring that subject up again, _now_ , like _this_ , right when the emotions are running so high ... Right when he's trying to ask John to … John isn't even sure _what_ Sherlock's trying to ask him … And he just can't take it.

He lunges at the taller man, captures Sherlock's jacket lapels in his fists, spins him about, and slams him into the door frame. Sherlock is stunned into silence, staring down at the furious John Watson with widened eyes.

John's jaw works painfully on itself, upper lip curling into what is almost a snarl, fighting to contain himself. “Don't you _dare_ , Sherlock – Don't you _dare_ …” he growls, into the inches separating their faces. “How could bring up the 'what-if's' and 'what-could-have-been's' if you hadn't done what you _did to me_ – If you _hadn't_ …” his voice breaks, and he breathes in furiously and sharply through flared nostrils, fighting for control, blinking down for a minute, unable to look at Sherlock.

There's a brief moment of intense silence punctuated only by John's angry breathing. Sherlock is holding his own breath. Finally John says, his voice raw and ragged and quiet, “... You broke my heart, Sherlock.”

Sherlock's face crumbles in deep remorse. He knows he can never make it up to John for how much he hurt him.

John looks up finally and meets Sherlock's eyes, and he sees it all on his face. Both their eyes are glassy with un-shed tears. Sherlock's mouth twitches against the emotion and his eyebrows furrow into a desperate apology, willing John to understand just how sorry he is. That huge heart that Sherlock had always been told he didn't have, that depth of emotion that he'd never displayed before … well, before John, … it is a little overwhelming now. For both of them.

John snarls low under his breath in resignation and releases Sherlock with a huff, none-too-gently pushing away from the taller man, and taking a few paces towards his armchair, turning his back to Sherlock.

Sherlock straightens himself and is silent for a long time, watching John's shaking shoulders. He knows the pain he has caused, and he can't undo it. He respects the emotion John is feeling, even if he never understood it before John.

But he can't stay silent forever. This subject is too important to him, to vital … He needs to resolve this.

“John,” he says at last, voice deep and soft.

John's head shakes a little, his only acknowledgment.

“Please,” says Sherlock quietly. “I know this is difficult- I know I don't deserve … I … But what Mary said.” Sherlock can usually mask his emotions so well, keep such a calm exterior, but in this? He knows his voice betrays him, and he can't hide it. In fact, he refuses to. “Can you at least consider that she might have been - that we _could_ be … ?”

The silence stretches out, and this time, Sherlock lets it. He has tried to finish this question multiple times now, and he knows he can't. He knows that this is something that John needs to figure out for himself. He may not know a lot about humans or their emotions in general, but he knows John Watson.

His patience pays off, and eventually John turns, his hand running once, pinching tightly, over the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head in defeat. Then he is fully facing Sherlock again, looking slightly helpless, and he shrugs his hands out to his sides just a little and tells Sherlock, “I haven't been with a … _man_ in …. in a _very long_ time.”

Sherlock nods, understanding. “I know,” he replies quietly. “Not since Commander Sholto, I would imagine.”

“Sholt-” John cuts himself off abruptly with a somewhat frustrated grunt, a twitch of his head to the side. “Of course ...” he continues, sounding resigned. “I won't even ask how you worked that one out.”

Sherlock takes two steps towards his friend, and then hesitates, realizing John still needs his space. He pauses, looking down, somewhat awkwardly. “Can you tell me honestly, John, that you would never have considered … That you've never _thought_ …?” he stops.

He knows the answer to his question. Well, at least _part_ of the question. He knows there have been times that John has felt _physically_ attracted to him, at least, even if John was not aware of it himself. Sherlock could read the signs of arousal; could feel it in John's pulse or the heat of his skin; could see it in John's dilated pupils when he looked at Sherlock. But he doesn't know if John is ready to acknowledge these things yet - to acknowledge his attraction to Sherlock; and if Sherlock pushes too much now, he may just push John away.

He can't _read_ John like one of their clients or one of their suspects. He can't simply _tell_ John everything he's already seen, _tell_ John that he is obviously attracted to Sherlock … John would just be angry or run away, and this, _this_ is too _important_ too _sensitive_ , and Sherlock _has_ to get it _right_.

Besides, whether or not John has been physically attracted to him does not tell Sherlock what he really needs to know. Something Sherlock _can't_ read … He's never been good at emotions. He can't know if John … loves him. Or at least if John _could_ love him. And without that … Without that, it means nothing to Sherlock whether or not John can be sexually attracted to him.

Sherlock is lost in his thoughts for a long time, with God knows what emotions playing across his face. John looks up and watches. He sees the longing, the hope, the fear, and he considers exactly what they mean … and as the seconds tick by, his face softens.

Because John has learned a trick or two from Sherkock's deductive work, and he can apply his own insightful view to it that Sherlock will maybe never see or understand. The emotional side.

“How long, Sherlock?” he asks at last, softly.

Sherlock is jolted out of his revere, and he looks up in surprise. He takes a deep breath. “How long what, John?” He asks, raising his chin … only a little in challenge. He thinks he knows what John is asking, but he has to hear it from his blogger.

John squares his shoulders, works through the emotions all across his features as he asks, “How long … have you … _felt_ … this way … about _me_?”

Sherlock swallows visibly, and his eyes flutter down, not meeting John's gaze. His back straightens a little, an affectation of pride to be upheld, but he almost looks embarrassed. He backs away carefully to sit on the arm of their couch, primly crossing his legs and folding his hands across his knees in a defensive gesture.

“Christ,” mutters John, looking down at his own hands. “That long.”

Sherlock sighs, and then admits quietly, “Since I realized that you shot the cabbie.”

John's head shoots up in surprise. Their eyes meet and they just … stare, for some time. Expressions shift and vary as if they are having an elaborate conversation without any words.

"That's literally the day after we met," John says finally.

Sherlock says nothing. Quiet.

John's sudden bark of laughter breaks the silence and, Sherlock stares at him in utter bewilderment, eyebrows pushing together. 

“And then we were giggling at the crime scene like a pair of idiots,” John says, chuckling, “ _Christ_ that was a good time.”

Sherlock can't help it as his face breaks into a broad grin, and he finds himself chuckling as well. They spend a moment in familiar, quiet laughter together, not quite looking at each other.

The chuckles die out at last, and John finds himself glancing up at Sherlock tenderly. Finally, mind made up, he approaches his friend, stopping a foot in front of Sherlock where he is still sitting on the arm of the couch. Sherlock is staring with determination at John's feet, looking somewhat nervous, almost like a child who's ready to be scolded.

“Sherlock,” says John quietly … gently. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Sherlock swallows a little, glances up at John briefly, then back to his toes. “There was never a good time, John, and I … I was still learning what it all meant to-to feel like this, and-and then I … _died_ , and I was gone, and …” (he took a deep breath before continuing) “All I could think of was getting home to you." He hesitated for just a moment, a grimace almost reaching his eyes, his gaze almost flicking up to John's for reassurance of his surroundings, but he caught himself. "… And then you had _Mary_ , and …”

“ _Jesus_ …” John interrupts. “Your wedding speech … _God_ , it all makes so much more sense now …”

They are quiet again for some time, Sherlock trying not to fidget nervously, John lost in reflection on the things that he just hadn't seen before; mulling over everything that he'd missed.

Finally Sherlock gathers himself and breaks the silence again. “John, I … I need to _know_ if I …” he looks up and meets John's eyes at last, his own eyes filled with sincere hope, ready for his heart to be either saved or shattered … The heart he hadn't even thought he had, until John came into his life. "If you…?"

John's lips twitch slightly into a soft smile, and he reaches a gentle hand up to caress the side of Sherlock's jaw with his fingertips, and leans in closer … Very close. Sherlock breathes him in, hardly daring to believe how close he is.

“Does this mean you're moving into my room?” asks Sherlock quietly, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Shut up, you idiot,” John whispers into the small space between them.

And then he kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Just so everyone knows, I started this as a podfic (which is probably why there are so many italics, dashes, and dot-dot-dot pauses involved, especially in the dialogue). I still plan to hopefully do it as a podfic so keep in touch for that.


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